There with the best my work compared;
My weary brain was never spared. 
  But now,—­some one could tell you why
        I flunked to-day.

As once to college I repaired,
A half-veiled glance my heart ensnared. 
  I felt my love (for knowledge) die;
  And thus it was without a sigh
        I flunked to-day.

ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE.
Columbia Spectator.

Ring from the Rim of the Glass, Boys.

Ring from the rim of the glass, boys,
  Ripples of tinkling tones;
Drink to the heyday of youth, boys,
  Mindless of after-moans.

Over the rim of the glass, boys,
  Gaze into eyes that are bright. 
Drink with each sip of the wine, boys,
  Passionate gleams of delight.

Sing to the rim of the glass, boys,
  Chorus wherever we roam. 
Drink in its sparkling-eyed depths, boys,
  A love as light as its foam.

Kiss the rim of the glass, boys,
  Blind to its siren-gleam. 
Drink in its shading depths, boys,
  The wav’ring forms of a dream.

Then ring from the rim of the glass, boys,
  Ripples of tinkling tones. 
Drink to the heyday of youth, boys,
  Mindless of after-moans.

JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY.
Brown Magazine.

Comforting Reflections of a Nonentity.

I cannot boast of learning deep,
  Nor can I much to art aspire;
My poetry loses me no sleep,
  Nor oratory’s burning fire.

I do not row upon the crew,
  Nor on th’eleven glory win;
I am not of the chosen few
  Who sing or play the mandolin.

I am not any social star,
  But then—­within my certain knowledge,
Like me, unknown to fame, there are
  Some fifteen hundred men in college.

S.M.  WILLIAMS.
Harvard Lampoon.

When Witherspoon was President.

Their manners had a formal cast
  A century or more ago,
Their bow was suited, as they passed
  To place in Academic row. 
  With “honored sir” and “humbly so,”
Their speech was truly reverent—­
  True learning did true grace bestow,
When Witherspoon was president.

The clothes they wore would now be classed
  At best as but a curio,
Huge buckles held their slippers fast—­
  Low cut and pointed at the toe. 
  Gray powdered hair, small-clothes below,
A long blue coat fresh splendor lent—­
  In sooth they made a goodly show
When Witherspoon was president.

But when the trumpet’s warring blast
  Had knelled the fate that tyrants know,
They proved no laggards at the last,
  And sprang to meet their country’s foe. 
  Their master’s words undying glow—­
“To slavery there’s no consent,
  My fame, my life is on the throw—­”
When Witherspoon was president.

  Aye, manners, customs, clothes may flow,
Unchanging is such sentiment—­
  We would have done as they, I trow,
When Witherspoon was president.